


Limits

by wordsinbetween



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams and Nightmares, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, First Kiss, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24122005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsinbetween/pseuds/wordsinbetween
Summary: “You wanna go for a walk?” Richie asks a little while later, lounging in a chair on the back porch.Eddie pauses in the doorframe, poking his head outside. “Where?”“Mike told me there’s a stream at the edge of his property.” Richie points out across the back field. “He said there’s a little walking path and a bench.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 17
Kudos: 276





	Limits

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing something soft about healing on Mike's new farm. Fix-it, baby.

Eddie’s sitting on the steps of Mike’s front porch, shoulders hunched as he leans on his knees. Richie hesitates before pulling the screen door open and stepping outside to join him. The door slaps against the wood as it closes behind him, a sharp sound that makes him clench his fist. Eddie doesn’t jump, just casually looks over his shoulder before facing the front lawn again.

Richie sits down next to him. The wood is worn and frayed at the edges, but it’s solid beneath them. The lingering warmth of the day sinks through his clothes and into his skin. The sun is slowly sinking towards the horizon to the left of them, behind the old barn. He nudges a rock with his toe, his right leg stretched out in front of him. His left knocks gently against Eddie’s.

“Hey,” he says, breaking the silence.

“You don’t have to check on me,” Eddie says without looking over at him.

Richie watches him adjust his arm. The sling scrapes gently over his shirt, the materials rustling against each other. His fingers are curled loosely around the edge. The cast is long gone, but the scars are still there. Pain shoots up Richie’s bad hip, a sympathy pain deep in the muscle that makes him wince. He stretches his hip forward until the cramp eases.

“I’m not checking up on you,” he says. “I just wanted to sit with you. If that’s okay?”

Eddie rolls his eyes a little. “Of course it’s okay.”

Richie smiles and lets his knee rest against Eddie’s. A puffy cloud swollen with rain turns purple and pink in the light of the setting sun. It casts shadows upon them, sending a breeze towards them that ruffles Eddie’s hair on his forehead. There’s a field across the two-lane highway out in front of Mike’s new house, his gravel driveway leading the eyes towards it. Richie looks at the leafy plants happily growing on the gently sloping hill. Soybeans, he thinks Mike said. Short and close to the ground but healthy-looking in the evening light. He breathes in the late summer air, smells the fresh grass and the livestock in the neighboring fields.

Eddie’s looking down at his feet now, pushing the dirt around with one foot. An old tomcat walks up to them, the fur on his hind end matted with mud. But his eyes are kind as he rubs against Richie’s leg without hesitation. The cat sits next to him, absently rubbing its cheek against him while Richie gently picks at the tangled fur. He pulls too hard on a patch and the cat gives him a sharp look and a warning, so he runs his hand over its back instead. Gradually, the cat begins to purr.

“Is that Mike’s cat?” Eddie asks, looking at the animal curiously.

“I think he said it lives next door, but apparently it likes to hunt for mice in his barn,” Richie shrugs, scratching the old cat under the chin and smiling when it purrs louder.

Eddie reaches out with his good arm, hesitating only slightly. The cat migrates over, rubbing the entire length of its body against both of Eddie’s legs as it seeks out his warm palm. Eddie scratches the cat behind its ears a few times before it wanders off into the tall grass at the edge of the lawn. Only the tip of its tail is visible as it moves through the weeds.

“I’m pretty sure dinner’s almost ready,” Richie says after a minute.

The clouds are losing their color now as the sun disappears behind them. The breeze shifts, bringing with it a drop in temperature as the storm rolls closer.

“I can bring out a plate for you, if you want,” Richie adds.

Eddie ducks his chin down towards his chest. His brow furrows as he squints down at his lap. Richie turns back towards the field and lets him think.

“I’ll come inside,” Eddie replies after a minute of silence. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

“Okay.” Richie nods. He can hear the others inside, talking and moving around. Chairs scraping against the floor as the table is set. A joke followed by comfortable laughter.

Eddie stands up first, and then holds out his free hand for Richie. He’s pulled to his feet, wobbling only for a second; he leans against the railing as his body adjusts to the new position.

Eddie holds onto his hand for a few seconds longer than necessary. Richie swallows hard and squeezes his fingers softly before letting go. He follows him inside the house.

~

Dinner is loud and disruptive, but they all grin and laugh the entire time. Ben and Beverly are sitting across from them, with Mike at the head of the table. Mike and Ben are talking loudly about their various adventures, while Beverly laughs behind her hand at something stupid Richie intercedes with. Eddie pokes at his meal with his fork, following along with a quiet smile on his face. Richie nudges him until he laughs and shrugs him off.

“I was walking along this short trail while I was in Yellowstone,” Mike goes on, leaning forward with both his forearms on the table. “And I look down, and there’s just this… perfectly shaped bear print in the mud in front of me. Only one! I don’t think I’ve ever ran out of somewhere faster.”

_ Well, besides that last trip to Neibolt, _ Richie thinks.

“Did you see the bear?!” Ben yells, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his short hair.

“No,” Mike laughs. “Thank God. It was the only print I saw, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I had bear spray, but I wasn’t looking to test it out in the wild.”

Bev’s shaking her head now, looking over at Richie with wide eyes.

“You guys are crazy,” she laughs.

Mike’s got his phone out now, showing Ben pictures of the hikes and Ol’ Faithful and the bison that like to walk up right next to your car.

Richie turns to Eddie and knocks their knees together under the table.

“You okay?”

“Stop asking if I’m okay, Richie,” he sighs, shoveling another forkful of potatoes in his mouth. He swallows and looks over at him. “Please?”

“Sorry,” Richie says, blushing a little out of embarrassment. “You know I don’t– nevermind. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

Richie takes his plate to the kitchen sink and leans against the counter for a minute, breathing deeply.  _ Just relax. _

Bev walks in a few minutes later, carrying a couple plates in her hands.

“How’re you two doing?” She asks, not even giving him an opportunity to pretend.

“Fine.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m trying, Bev. It’s hard.”

“I know, honey.”

She rests a comforting hand on his arm.

“You guys look good,” he says. “You and Ben.”

“Thanks,” she says, a bright smile on her face. “It’s still new. We’re… adjusting.”

“Good.” He smiles. “Mike seems happy, too.”

She nods. “I think he likes it here. It’s quiet and reminds him of home, but not in all the bad ways, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

Eddie walks into the kitchen next, his attention focused on the silverware balancing precariously on his plate. Richie takes a step forward to help, but Eddie throws him a look. He raises his hands and steps back, clearing the way to the sink. The dishes settle together with a clatter.

“What are you two talking about in here,” Eddie mutters, looking suspiciously between them both.

“Nothing,” Richie shrugs, because it’s the truth. “How much we like Mike’s new house.”

“It’s nice,” Eddie says after a moment of embarrassed hesitation. “It’s… homey? Not that I’m an expert at deciding whether or not things are homey, but–” He shifts anxiously from foot to foot. “I like it a lot.”

“Me too,” Bev smiles at him and shakes Eddie’s elbow a little. “Relax, Eddie. This is supposed to be a fun trip.”

Eddie blushes harder and looks at Richie quickly before moving to sit at the smaller kitchen table by the backdoor.

“I’m relaxed,” he says, bristling. “I am, okay?”

“Okay,” she concedes, sitting across from him. She looks at the chair next to them and then pointedly back at Richie. He rolls his eyes and walks over to the table, too.

Eddie leans his leg against Richie’s under the table. Richie fiddles with the day’s newspaper to distract himself from the pounding of his own heart.

“I’m just tired,” Eddie admits. He sounds subdued. 

“How’s physical therapy going?” Bev asks after a minute, reaching across the table to hold onto Eddie’s hand.

Eddie shrugs. “It mostly just hurts.”

She gives him a little smile. “It’ll get better. We’re here for you.”

She glances at Richie,  _ we’re here for you, too,  _ in her eyes, and his gaze falls to the tabletop.

~

They sit around Mike’s living room that night, the late night news softly playing in the background as they talk. Richie shuffles a deck of cards out of boredom, over and over until he tries to show off and the deck scatters across the floor. He hobbles down onto his knees to pick them up, ignoring Ben’s  _ hey, let me, Richie I don’t mind. _

Eddie gives him a look once he’s pulled himself back up onto the couch. Richie picks at the hem of his shirt, avoiding his gaze.

They turn in shortly after eleven, most of them still tired from traveling. He follows Eddie towards the spare bedroom they’re staying in. The futon is already pulled out and made, a couple of pillows propped up against the wall.

“You really shouldn’t sleep on that,” Eddie says, sitting on the edge of the actual guest bed.

“I’ve slept on worse,” he says, glancing nervously at the thin mattress.

“Your back isn’t–”

“It’s just a couple of fucked up discs, Eds. I’ll be fine, okay? I’m not making you sleep on this shit.”

“Richie,” Eddie sighs. “We can share the bed.”

Richie ignores him, turning towards his bags and starting to rummage through them. He feels Eddie’s eyes on him.

“It’s fine,” he says, pulling out a shirt to sleep in. “I’ll be fine. Do you want the bathroom first?”

“You can go first,” Eddie says, so quietly he almost misses it.

The bathroom door slams behind him a little harder than he’d intended. Once he’s done changing, he splashes his face with warm water, scrubbing at his cheeks until he feels numb inside and out.  _ Relax. _ They brush shoulders when he leaves the bathroom.

Richie’s already under the covers by the time Eddie comes back into the bedroom. The springs are digging into him, an uncomfortable lump directly under his already aching lower back. He swallows his pride and rolls over, pulling the blanket up to his chin and closing his eyes.

“Do you want me to turn out the light?” Eddie asks.

He can hear him climbing into bed, the soft rustle of sheets under Eddie’s body. The shifting of the bed as his weight settles. He thinks about how warm it must be sleeping next to him. He thinks about Eddie’s bare ring finger, the tan line still painfully visible, and clenches his eyes shut.

“Yeah,” he coughs out. “Yeah, whenever you’re ready.”

The lamp clicks off and the room sinks into darkness. The moon is bright outside the small window. Richie closes his eyes and ignores the pain in his back, breathing as slowly as he can in an attempt to lure himself into sleep.

~

_ Richie _ , a voice growls in his dreams. He turns over, shoving the blankets down towards his waist.  _ What are you thinking about, Richie?  _ The voice asks. He knows that voice. He knows that voice–

“Hey,” someone says close to his ear. “Hey, come on. Please wake up.”

The covers are tangled around his feet. He kicks at them, his breath speeding up until he’s gasping, hands desperately reaching out for anything to hold onto– and then someone’s holding his hand, squeezing over and over and saying his name again and again–

“Richie!” Eddie finally yells, breaking through the fog of the dream.

He bolts upright in bed and then collapses back down immediately, his free hand reaching down to his tender lower back.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. It hurts. It hurts so much.

Eddie’s sitting on the edge of the futon, holding their clasped hands in his lap, his worried face visible in the moonlight.

“You’ve been tossing and turning for hours,” Eddie says, reaching out to brush the sweaty hair out of Richie’s eyes.

Luckily he’s in too much pain to react.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Richie whispers. 

“Will you please come sleep in the bed?”

“I’m not letting you–”

“Richie, we’ll both fit. Please. You need sleep.”

He lies there for another thirty seconds, staring at the ceiling. He tries to breathe through the pain. Eddie holds onto his hand; his thumb is soft on his skin.

“You’re gonna have to help me up.”

Eddie nods quickly, despite the hesitation on his face. “Okay.”

He lets Richie lean on his good shoulder as they slowly stand up. Richie’s muscles are so tight, it feels like he’s about to pass out. Eddie holds him up while he sucks in gasping breaths, his body slowly adjusting and evening out. He finally lies down on the bed and lets Eddie pull the covers over the both of them, relaxing into the warmth and solidity of the mattress.

He falls asleep quickly, exhausted by the pain and the voice in his head. The last thing he remembers is the feel of Eddie’s hand, warm and wrapped loosely around his wrist.

~

The other three drive into town in the early afternoon for groceries. Eddie turns down the offer, even though there’s enough room in the car for four. He shrugs nervously, arm shifting in his sling.

“You wanna go for a walk?” Richie asks a little while later, lounging in a chair on the back porch.

Eddie pauses in the doorframe, poking his head outside. “Where?”

“Mike told me there’s a stream at the edge of his property.” Richie points out across the back field. “He said there’s a little walking path and a bench.”

“Can you make it that far?” Eddie asks.

Richie flushes, scowling. He ignores the question. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What about your cane?”

“I feel fine, Eds. I promise. I did my stretches earlier.”

Eddie looks skeptical but follows him down into the yard. They walk down the center until a path worn down by footprints appears in the tall grass, leading them towards the fenceline. They follow it, slowly but surely making their way towards the trees lining the back edge of Mike’s property.

“I should have put on sunscreen,” Eddie grumbles next to him. He adjusts his arm and glances at Richie, looking at his face and then down to his slight limp.

Richie pushes himself up straighter, trying to walk like it doesn’t hurt. It does. But Eddie doesn’t need to know that.

“We’re almost there,” he lies.

They gradually make their way under the canopy offered by the trees, the surrounding bushes green and blooming happily in the indirect light. There are wild berries growing on a few of them, but he’s pretty sure Eddie would slap him if he reached out and ate some. He leads them down the path, holding his breath, mouth a tight line as the trail starts to slope downward just a little. He can hear the stream now, rushing past rocks and fallen tree limbs.

He feels Eddie’s fingers on his back, fingertips gently brushing over his sweaty shirt as if to brace him. Richie takes another step down the path and curses under his breath as a rock gives way under his foot and knocks him off balance.

“I’m fine,” he mutters before Eddie has a chance to say anything. He hears him exhale sharply, an annoyed sound.

The trail bends and the bench finally comes into view. It’s wooden and worn, words scratched into the back. He thinks about the Kissing Bridge. He looks at Eddie and thinks  _ maybe. _

Eddie helps him sit down, holding tightly onto his hand even after they’ve both sat down. Richie looks down at the water and tries not to think about why Eddie hasn’t let go.

They sit there for fifteen minutes, then an hour, until Richie’s back starts to ache uncomfortably and Eddie can’t stop fidgeting with the strap on his sling. Eddie leads them out, their linked hands swinging gently in the warm summer air, the cool breeze off the stream sending a shiver down Richie’s back. He doesn’t let go. He folds his thumb over Eddie’s and hangs on.

By the time they reach the edge of the field, breaking out into the bright sunshine again, every step they take sends shooting pain down Richie’s back. He tugs gently on Eddie’s hand until he stops walking. Richie bends over, bracing himself on his knees with his free hand.

“Hey,” Eddie says gently, kneeling down next to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a cramp,” he lies.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” Richie gasps out with a little huff of a laugh. “Maybe it’s a little more than a cramp. I thought I could make it. I’m sorry.”

“If I can’t keep apologizing, neither can you,” Eddie replies. “Do you want me to call Mike? They’re probably back by now.”

“No, no. I can make it. Just– just give me a minute.”

Eddie stands there next to him while he gradually stretches his back as best he can from a standing position. He’s pretty sure if he sat down there’s zero chance he’d be able to get back up. Eddie stands there, warm against Richie’s arm, not moving from his side.

“If you don’t want their help, they could at least bring out your cane,” Eddie tries to say as they make their way towards the house again. “You shouldn’t push yourself like this, Richie.”

They move slowly up the length of the field, stopping more often the closer they get to the house. By the time they reach the back porch, Richie’s got his arm wrapped around Eddie’s waist, his fingers digging into his hip, probably leaving behind an uncomfortable bruise. Ben sees them first and quickly slides open the door, coming around Richie’s other side and helping him up the three porch steps.

“No!” He gasps out when they try to sit him down in the cushioned patio chair. “No, just take me to the bedroom, please. I need my pills.”

They manage to get him inside the bedroom. Bev and Mike linger outside in the hallway. Ben helps Richie lift his legs onto the bed once they’ve sat down while Eddie disappears into the bathroom. He comes back out with two pill bottles, trying to take off the lids with trembling hands.

“I need my pills,” Richie whispers harshly, his eyes clenched shut. 

“I’ve got them,” he hears Eddie say, and then the bed dips gently next to him. “Which one do you want?”

“Both. Just– just give me one of each. Please.” He arches off the bed, trying to get his back to stop spasming, but it’s in vain.

He feels someone tip his head forward, two pills pressed against his lips. He swallows them dry. It feels like they’re lodged in his throat. He hates that. When he finally manages to open his eyes again, Eddie’s still sitting next to him, holding a glass of water now. He helps him guide the water to his mouth. He drinks half the glass, swallowing desperately as his sweat-drenched shirt sticks uncomfortably to his skin.

The painkiller kicks in first, granting enough relief that he lets Ben help pull his shirt over his head. The muscle relaxer follows soon after, leaving him loose-limbed and drowsy. He feels like he’s sinking into the bed, engulfed by the sheets and the pillows positioned around him. The others have left the room. Someone’s pulled the blinds down on the window and drawn the curtains.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles through the cotton-mouth.

Eddie brushes the hair out of his eyes and shakes his head a little. Richie can’t be sure in this state, but his eyes almost look wet. Something that vaguely feels like confusion runs through his fuzzy brain.

“What’s the matter?” He manages to say, the words all slurring together. He reaches up and cups Eddie’s face in his hand, thumb brushing over his scarred cheek. Eddie leans into the touch.

“I’m worried about you,” Eddie says, smiling softly. His hand is covering Richie’s now, holding it to his face.

“About what?” Richie thinks he says.

Eddie snorts and closes his eyes. Richie thinks he feels a kiss pressed to the palm of his hand. He feels disconnected from his body. He’s so tired.

“You, dumbass,” Eddie says.

“Oh.”

He thinks he says something else, something that makes Eddie laugh softly and wipe at his eyes. The last thing he remembers is Eddie leaning down, his lips soft and warm against his forehead.

~

He wakes up in time to eat dinner with the others, poking at pasta with his fork while he rubs at his dry eyes. Eddie nudges him gently, nodding at his plate.

“You need to eat something,” he says, ever the mother hen.

“I am,” Richie mutters, pushing a tortellini around and leaving a path of pesto in its wake. He blushes when the others look over at him, too.

“I’m fine, guys,” he says after the conversation fades out and comes to an awkward pause. “I just pushed too hard today, that’s all. It happens.”

“It shouldn’t,” Eddie says, looking at him with those big brown eyes.

Richie looks away.

“What, you’re telling me you never try to lift something one-handed when you know you shouldn’t?”

He doesn’t know why he’s raising his voice.

Eddie scowls and pushes his chair back from the table, the legs scraping against the wood floor. The harsh sound breaks the stale silence.

“This isn’t about me,” Eddie shouts back, gripping the edge of his sling tightly in his fist.

“Guys–” Ben says, glancing nervously at Bev.

Richie feels Bev’s hand on his arm and he pulls away sharply, his fork falling onto the plate with a clatter. He stands up quickly, tossing his napkin onto his plate and muttering  _ sorry, Mike, _ under his breath as he disappears into the bedroom again.

He hears movement outside the closed door. He knows it’s Eddie, probably hesitating with his hand an inch from the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he almost says. The shadow moves away, footsteps growing quieter as whoever was there moves away. He pulls his laptop out of his bag and settles on the bed.

~

Nobody knocks on the door for hours, not until it’s a quarter past eleven. Eddie walks in without saying a word, chin down. He unhooks his sling as he walks towards the dresser, setting it on top as he pulls out a drawer for a fresh pair of boxers and a shirt. Richie blushes and looks back at the dumb comedy playing on his screen.

Eddie goes into the bathroom to change. Richie feels like a coward for strongly considering putting his laptop away and pretending to be asleep already. He tries to watch the movie, but all he can focus on is the sound of the water running in the other room, the quiet echoes of Eddie’s movements.

The movie’s practically over by the time Eddie walks out of the bathroom. He’s wearing a soft grey t-shirt, a pair of tight red boxers that smooth over the curve of his ass. Richie looks away quickly, thankful for the dim light as he feels his face start to burn.

But then Eddie sits down on the bed facing him, one leg tucked under him, knee resting against Richie’s hip. He tries not to fidget. The end credits start to roll, the music cheery and light. Eddie reaches out and closes the laptop.

Richie stares at him, fidgeting with the edge of the computer, scratching at it absently with his thumb. He tries not to stare at Eddie’s elbow, at the scars curving around his bicep. He looks at the small muscles in his arm, pale and skinny compared to his uninjured side. He thinks about being in the cavern and pushing Eddie aside, rolling them both into a giant boulder in the depths of Neibolt– hearing Eddie’s scream against his neck and the whoosh of something fast flying past them, missing them by only a hair– It’s limb digging into the dirt right where they had just been lying down– then, an unbelievable pain shooting down his spine, a burning tear in his hip–

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.  _ Richie,  _ that voice whispers. It’s voice.

He jumps when Eddie touches him, his fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you,” Richie blurts out, swallowing harshly against the sudden dryness in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Eddie says. He threads their fingers together. There’s no ring on his finger. No ring.  _ No ring– _

He tries to pull away but Eddie doesn’t let him.

“Please talk to me, Richie,” Eddie pleads, and it pulls at Richie’s heart to hear him sound like that. Like he’s lost and trying to find his way, like Richie’s only making it worse.

“I don’t know–” he falters, stumbling over his words as he sits up straighter, drawing his legs up, his heavy thigh shifting until it’s practically on top of Eddie’s. “I don’t know  _ how _ .”

Eddie’s hand is warm on the inside of his thigh, resting just above his knee. He’s so tense, he feels his back send him a  _ be careful  _ warning. He tries to relax. It settles his leg more firmly onto Eddie’s, nestled against the soft curve of his stomach. Richie can feel every breath he takes.

“I know I haven’t made it easy,” Eddie says. It sounds like an apology.

Richie shakes his head. “No, it’s not like–”

“–It is!” He interrupts. “I’ve just been… with the divorce, and the hospital, and the physical therapy, I haven’t been doing things right.”

Richie squeezes Eddie’s hand.

“I didn’t want to make things harder for you than they already were,” Richie says.

Eddie shifts closer. His bad arm is tucked close against his stomach. Richie leans forward, looking him in the eye before his hand makes contact with his arm. He sees Eddie nod, a tiny little movement, and then he’s cradling Eddie’s previously fractured elbow gently in his hand. His thumb sweeps across the soft skin on the inside of his forearm. He feels Eddie shiver.

Richie leans forward even more and bends down, raising Eddie’s elbow to his mouth. He kisses his soft skin, lips lingering there as tears burn in his eyes. He hears Eddie swallow, hears him exhale sharply, a wet sound like there’s tears in his eyes, too.

Eddie pulls his arm back after a while, and then he feels fingers tipping his chin up.

“Richie,” he hears. He’s afraid to open his eyes. Afraid to break whatever gentle thing is happening right now. Afraid he’s going to ruin everything.

“Hey,” Eddie says again, the sound of his fingers moving over Richie’s stubble loud in the quiet room. “Please look at me?”

He opens his eyes and his breath catches in his throat, lodged there behind some invisible barrier. Eddie’s smiling at him, the scar on his cheek a gentle white line above the curve of his dimple. Richie touches it. They’re both covered in reminders.

Eddie draws him in, and Richie’s gaze falls to his lips just like it always does. Eddie kisses him gently, pressing their lips together with such hesitation it makes Richie’s heart pound wildly in his chest. His hand finds the back of Eddie’s neck and pulls him closer. Eddie’s hand inadvertently slides higher up his thigh, fingers dipping under the leg of his boxers. Richie gasps into the kiss.

Eddie takes this as an open invitation, his tongue sweeping hotly over Richie’s. He pushes the laptop off his lap and pulls Eddie down with him, cradling his face as they kiss. Eddie settles against his side, his hand finding its way up his chest, absently tracing his collarbone.

He kisses him until he can’t catch his breath. His head falls back onto the pillow and Eddie looks down at him with a quiet look on his face.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Richie says, looking up at him with what he’s sure is a dopey grin.

Eddie rolls his eyes and kisses him again, smiling against his mouth.

“I think I have an idea.”

“Do you?” Richie asks, thinking about carving into worn wood with an old knife.

Eddie shifts until he can lie down, his cheek resting on Richie’s chest. His leg slides between Richie’s, hooking an ankle under his calf. He’s warm and loose in his arms, rubbing his hand up and down Richie’s ribcage. He holds him close even after Eddie’s dropped off into sleep, snoring lightly and drooling a little on his shirt. He kisses the top of Eddie’s head and breathes him in, smiling softly as he falls into the quietest sleep he’s had in months.


End file.
